


Tumbling After

by ssa_archivist



Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-10
Updated: 2005-08-10
Packaged: 2017-11-01 10:12:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/355437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssa_archivist/pseuds/ssa_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark is gone. And he's never coming back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tumbling After

## Tumbling After

by Jaded

<http://www.geocities.com/jadedsilver82>

* * *

His mother used to tell him fairy tales. Fairy tales and nursery rhymes, and he remembers that her hands were soft. 

_Jack and Jill went up the hill..._

...to rule the world. His father's hands were not soft, and he shouldn't know this as well as he does. 

*We have a future, Clark. * 

The world around him is painted in watercolor blues and shades of gray, swirling around him, and he's suffocating on it. He reaches shaking hands out in front of him, tries to push the fog away from his head, away from his throat. It's cold, and he can feel its weight all around him, pushing him down like he's underwater and drowning all over again. His throat is so _tight_ , and it feels like his father's hands -- hands that are _not_ soft -- are around his neck, squeezing slowly... 

And through the haze that is slowly clouding the edges of his vision, he hears Clark's voice, sharp as razors: 

*This friendship is  over.* 

Lex wakes with a start, the bitterness of scotch and river water leaving an aftertaste in his mouth. Turning to wipe his lips with the back of his hand, Lex lies there staring up at the high ceiling of his bedroom, the soft glow of moonlight casting eerie shadows in the corners. 

He's afraid -- no, Luthors are not afraid; they don't have that luxury -- he doesn't want to sleep. Doesn't want to dream, doesn't want to see/hear/smell/touch/taste...Clark. 

There's a tiny crack in the plaster where the corner of the ceiling meets the wall, and Lex focuses on it, unblinking; the clock on his nightstand ticking away the minutes -- hours, decades -- until morning, until he can busy himself with meaningless work and empty discourse with insignificant strangers. Until he doesn't have to think, and he doesn't have to remember... 

...that Clark is gone. He's _gone_. 

And he's never coming back. 

* * *

"Mr. Luthor, you have a phone call from Gerald Hammond on line two." 

Lex sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, tired eyes dragging downward to glare at the blinking light on his phone. He reaches toward the console only to push the call button to his secretary instead. "Tell him to call back tomorrow. I've left for the day." 

He leans back in his chair, the plush leather cool against the back of his head, eyelids drifting shut. 

*Do you believe a man can fly? 

People can't fly, Lex. 

I did.* 

There's an ache in his shoulder, and Lex opens his eyes to find himself gripping the chair arm, knuckles white with the effort, the back of his head warm and clammy with sweat. 

"Fuck this." 

He needs to get out of here. And get very, very drunk. 

* * *

Lex wonders how fast he's going. He's fairly certain he hit 150 ten miles back. 200 maybe. Of course, he could just glance at the dash, but Lex knows the importance of keeping his eyes on the road. 

_I could've sworn I hit you..._

The laugh that squeezes past his throat sounds too much like a sob, and he cuts it off before it becomes one. The numbers on the speedometer are all blurring together anyway, and he decides he doesn't care. 

Outside the window, the fields are long streaks of black against darker black. _Night... What the fuck time is it?_ The road stretches long ahead of him, the tires of his Bentley -- he never drives the silver Porsche anymore -- eating up the miles. 

It's dark down this stretch of road, no streetlamps, and so Lex isn't entirely certain his eyes aren't playing tricks on him when he sees a lone figure hunched in the middle of the road about half a mile ahead. At the speed he's going, it takes about two seconds for the sight to register in his brain as real and four more before he's barreling down on it. 

_Oh, shit._

For a split-second, it's as if he's driving off that bridge all over again. He sees Clark's face through the windshield -- he's hallucinating now, he knows it -- face pale and unearthly in the glare of his headlights. Lex grits his teeth and decides to rewrite history; he's driving off that bridge again, but this time, he won't take Clark with him. 

He slams hard on the brakes and swerves wildly off the road, cornstalks angrily slapping against the windshield. 

Lex's hands grip the steering wheel while the car finally comes to a shaky stop in a ditch just off the side of the road. Steam hisses from the hood, and he cautiously raises his head to peer through the green, leafy stems crisscrossed atop the glass. His head aches and he gingerly touches shaking fingers to the fresh gash above his left eyebrow. 

"At least I didn't get knocked out this time," Lex raises an eyebrow at his reflection...and winces at the sharp flare of pain. 

The stalks are soft underneath his shoes when he steps out, crunching only slightly. Carefully, he makes his way back to the pavement...and stares. 

* * *

Lex stumbles, something strangled escaping his throat. The ground is hard, bruising his knees when he slumps to the ground, but he hardly feels it. His heart is pounding in his throat and he can't breathe -- _his father's hands around his neck again_ \-- and for a second, he wonders if he hasn't actually crashed the car and is now dead. *I'm dead and this is heaven. * 

The rational part of him -- the part that, even now, he is unable to suppress -- tells him he couldn't possibly be dead. This didn't feel like flying at all. 

It felt like drowning. 

There's probably some sort of irony in that, but Lex doesn't feel up to examining it too closely at the moment. In any case, Lex Luthor couldn't possibly have gotten into heaven. So. He's not dead. 

Lex doesn't know if he's relieved or disappointed. 

He laughs, a bit hysterically, and Clark -- _Clark_ \-- turns around to face him. 

* * *

_Three months on a deserted island was almost worth it to see the look on your face right now._

Lex wonders if he looks as stupidly happy as Clark had that day. 

"Clark..." He starts, getting up and taking a step towards him -- but stops short at Clark's stony gaze. 

Oh, right. He'd forgotten. A bright flare of anger dulls the ache in his chest and smoothes his voice deceptively calm. "Clark, you can't possibly be stubborn enough to still be holding a grudge while stranded on a deserted road in the middle of the night." Lex pauses, swallowing almost imperceptibly. "While _naked_ , I might add." 

Clark continues to stare at him, silent and statuesque, and not entirely of his own volition Lex's eyes take the opportunity to reaffirm the truth of his last statement. 

"Look--" 

"Who are you?" Clark tilts his head stiffly, eyes impassive and blue-grey in the dim moonlight. 

Lex's throat stops working, and a flash of pain not derived from any crash-sustained injuries slices through his chest. 

"You -- you don't remember me." And it _hurts_ , more than he could've thought. More than he should've allowed it to. 

He only allows it to for a moment. Reaching into the backseat, he withdraws the suit jacket he'd shrugged off 80 miles and one near car crash back and wordlessly holds it out. 

"It might be a bit snug," he says apologetically. Clark takes it from him, sliding one arm in carefully and perfectly ripping the jacket sleeve off at the seams. Lex's eyes widen slightly for a moment before a shadow falls over his features and a sad smile haunts the corners of his mouth. 

"It's okay. Just get in; we're not far from Metropolis. It's -- late. It won't take us long to get back to the penthouse." What Lex really should've said was "to get you back _home_." Clark's parents -- _Martha_ \-- would kill him if they ever found out. But he's tired and doesn't really feel like examining all the reasons why he _should_ be heading back into Smallville. There are good ones, he's sure. In fact, he's almost positive that bringing an amnesiac, suddenly not-missing -- and _naked_ , his brain reminds him -- Clark back with him to Metropolis, is a very, bad idea. 

Oddly enough, Lex can't bring himself to give a fuck. 

* * *

Lex grips the wheel tightly, calculating the remaining miles to Metropolis. Nothing like a near-fatal car accident to sober oneself up. 

Nothing like your former best friend sitting naked next to you, either. 

_Eyes on the road, Lex. Keep your eyes on the road..._

At this point, he's considering making it his personal mantra. He blinks, realizing that even as he's thinking this, he's staring at Clark. Clark, whose profile glows briefly with each passing streetlamp. Clark, who's staring out the window, hands resting lightly on the torn jacket pieces covering his lap. Clark, who's _here_ , right beside him, and Lex had given up long ago the hope of ever having this again. 

"Clark --" 

"Kal-El." 

Lex frowns. Clark must be in really bad shape. He's speaking gibberish. Lex makes a mental note to call Toby once they get back to the penthouse. 

"My name is Kal-El." 

Oh. Like everything else that's happened so far, Lex takes this new information in stride, filing it away for later examination. "What happened to you, Cl-- ...Kal-El?" 

Green eyes turn to face him, strangely unfamiliar in the flickering darkness and Lex shivers involuntarily. 

"A new beginning." 

Lex nods. He'd lost count of how many new beginnings he'd had over the years -- and no, he didn't deserve another one, and he had no reason to believe that this time it would be any different... But he is a Luthor, and Luthors know how to take advantage of the opportunities presented to them. 

"We're almost there." 

Kal stares at him for a moment, shadows dancing over his features, an unreadable expression on his face, before turning his gaze back to the darkness and the stars beyond. 

* * *

Lex parks and locks the car, silently giving thanks to the geniuses who invented covered garages and private elevators as he escorts Kal -- suit jacket wrapped awkwardly around his waist -- inside the steel cubicle. There are no floor buttons in this elevator, just a keyhole and a number pad where Lex inserts a key and punches in his password. 

The elevator pings as it reaches the top floor, and Lex notes Kal's appreciative sweep of his new surroundings. Clark had been impressed too, the first time he'd been up here, but in a much less smug way -- all wide-eyed and slack-jawed -- and when had Lex begun differentiating between the two? 

_Wow, Lex. It's like we're on top of the world here._

Lex shakes his head free of the reverie to find Kal standing in front of the wall-to-ceiling windows, looking down on the city, having lost his make-shift loincloth somewhere along his trek to the other side of the living room. He watches as Kal brings his hand up to the glass, one finger lightly tracing the outline of the moon, the lines on his back shifting with the movement...and all of a sudden, one-thousand dollar Italian wool pants are the itchiest and most uncomfortable things ever. 

Scotch. He needs scotch. 

* * *

Lex peers thoughtfully at the amber liquid swirling around the glass in his hand. Common sense, or at the very least paranoia, would have made any ordinary man stop drinking long ago. At least after the assassination attempt, if not after the first two druggings. But Lex is neither common nor ordinary, and he defiantly downs the drink in one gulp. If his father had really wanted him dead, he wouldn't have failed. 

Lex turns around to find Kal standing in front of the couch, clad in black silk boxers -- by some miracle, Lex had managed to find a pair that actually fit -- and completely engrossed in examining one of several remotes for the entertainment center. A crease appears between Kal's eyebrows, and he tilts his head quizzically, fingers stabbing lightly at the multitude of colored buttons. 

The expression is so perfectly Clark that Lex smiles without realizing it. He crosses the room and lowers himself into an armchair. Clears his throat and waits until green eyes find his. 

"Kal," he says carefully. "Why are you here?" 

Kal's expression didn't change, but Lex could _feel_ the sneer. "You brought me here," drawled slowly, heavy with obviousness. 

"No, I mean... Where were you? Where have you been for the past three months?" 

"My father..." He halts, for the first time looking unsure of himself. 

A twinge of guilt tugs the corner of Lex's mouth down at the mention of Jonathan. 

_He doesn't know._

Lex opens his mouth to tell him. To tell Clark that his father lies in the hospital. That he'd been there since Clark's disappearance. That Lex had had the best doctors in Metropolis sent in to look after him because Martha had never shared her husband's pride to the extent of his foolhardiness. That those same doctors had told them that Jonathan would never wake up. 

Clark would want to know about his parents. He would want to know that Chloe Sullivan is dead. 

Kal stares at him expectantly, and Lex shuts his mouth. *What good would it do? Kal doesn't even know who these people are. Who  he is.* And in the back of Lex's mind, an echo: *Who I am.* 

This isn't Clark; Lex's head had already decided that for him. He figures it's only a matter of time before his heart believes it, too. 

* * *

He doesn't know why, but he hadn't expected Kal to need sleep. 

Kal lay sprawled diagonally across the bed, thin sheets tangled around his bare legs, and even in the pale moonlight his skin was as golden as ever. Lex, parched for so long, can't tear his eyes away. He drinks in the sight, mouth dry and thirsting. He could drown in this, too, but he's not afraid. 

In a half-instinctive move, he reaches out to smooth the dark hair away from the boy's forehead. 

There's a sudden blur of movement and a sharp stab of pain in Lex's left shoulder, and Kal's behind him, Lex's arm wrenched his back. Lex winces. Oh, Clark: so quick but never in the way that actually counted. 

He breathes out unevenly, shallow and quick. Kal's grip is impossibly strong, and Lex imagines his arm tearing away at the shoulder as easily as his suit jacket had. Kal's breath is warm by his ear; he feels it travel down his neck as Kal leans over to nuzzle his shirt collar. 

He breathes in sharply at the flicker of wetness that is Kal's tongue tasting his skin. The tension in his shoulder tightens a little as Kal presses into him from behind, and Lex lets out a gasp - partly from pain, and partly...not. 

Lex closes his eyes, the edges of his skin tingling and a rough, guttural groan rumbling low in his throat as Kal arches into him. 

There are reasons why he shouldn't be doing this... Kal slips a finger in the waistband of Lex's slacks, stroking the soft skin of his hipbone, and all those reasons are lost in the soft whimper that spills from his lips. 

The tight grip on Lex's wrist is removed and he nearly cries out at the sudden relief. His arm drops to dangle by his side, the tendons in his hand aching. But pretty soon the pain is gone, forgotten in the wake of Kal's hands and tongue, the sinewy body writhing against his and always -- always --Clark's face hovering over his as Lex had imagined a thousand, million times, twisted in the throes of ecstasy. 

* * *

For the next few days, Lex works from the penthouse, Kal shadowing him occasionally during the more interesting aspects of Lexcorp's corporate takeovers. 

Lex doesn't tell Kal about Clark's past, and Kal doesn't ask. He lets himself imagine that Kal wants to forget as much as he does. 

It's getting easier now, to think of Kal as someone else entirely, despite the familiar face. And Kal rarely smiled -- Clark's most memorable feature and the thing Lex missed the most, though he would never admit it -- which made it easier still. 

The first couple of days are spent with Lex alternately working and, in between mergers and conference calls, taking Kal out into Metropolis, showing him things he'd never gotten to show Clark: the view of Metropolis from the top of Lexcorp Tower; the slums of the city where Lex had squandered much of his misspent youth. (Kal observed the former with a glint in his eye and a slight curve to his lips, the latter with undisguised disdain. Lex whispered out loud that one day he would change this city so that the view would still be as beautiful from the alleys as it was from his tower.) 

And in return, Kal shows him things, too. Like which look to use to have Kal bend him over the desk and inside in less than a minute. And exactly how fast to stroke to make Kal's head fall back hard enough to crack the plaster of the wall. 

On the fourth day, Kal shows Lex how to fly. 

* * *

That morning, Lex had looked over to find Kal rifling through one of the folders on his desk. A folder with one word written across the tab in black, bold strokes: "Kent." 

_Jack fell down and broke his crown._

Kal had paused in his perusal of the papers, a photograph held between thumb and forefinger emerging from the thick stack. A frown creased his brow and he looked up at Lex. "I know this man." He turned back to the picture and an unreadable expression clouded his face. 

"Clark, it's not what you think." 

_This isn't what it looks like. I can explain._

The excuses came instinctively, Lex automatically bracing himself for the accusations. 

...Which never came. 

Only one word was uttered: "Where?" 

* * *

The trip is short. Lex, despite having conquered his fear of heights at the age of twelve, is grateful for this. Because it was one thing to spend the summer bungee-jumping to dispel one's acrophobia; it was something else entirely to be dangling in midair and traveling at -- how many miles per hour? Lex makes a mental note to figure out the calculations later. 

He leads the way to the private hospital room he'd commissioned for Martha's husband. 

Jonathan Kent looks frail and shrunken, tubes and wires snaking out and around his skin like vein extensions that tumble over each other and onto the floor. 

Lex's own father had looked like that once. 

They step slowly into the room, make their way around the side of the bed, and stare down at the quiet rise and fall of Jonathan's chest. 

There's a flicker of recognition in the green eyes, and Lex flinches, dropping his gaze to the floor. 

_Jack and Jill went up the hill..._

...to find the truth. 

"Clark... Clark, I'm sorry. I should've told you. I didn't--" 

*Didn't want to. Didn't want you to remember any of them if you couldn't remember  me.* 

He looks up at the strangled sound of Jonathan Kent dying. 

"What are you doing??" 

Clark's hand tightens around his father's throat. "He tried to keep me from my destiny." 

Destiny... There'd been a time when Lex believed in such things. A time when he'd seen his destiny in the face of a fifteen year old boy, the same face as the man standing before him now. 

He scans the familiar features urgently, trying to find it once more. 

"You can't--" Choked out haltingly and uncertain. 

_Shouldn't_. There are *reasons... * 

The green eyes soften. "You want to change the world, Lex? So do I. He knows about me. She knows, too. They can't be allowed to stand in our way." 

"Our way?" 

A smile, then. Brighter than Lex remembers it ever being, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way Lex hadn't seen since Clark had disappeared three months before -- no, longer than that; he hadn't seen Clark smile in a very long time. 

Green eyes stare at him expectantly, waiting. 

_Clark fell down and broke his crown..._

A slight pause...and in the quiet, Jonathan's body stills. 

_And Lex..._

He returns the smile, genuinely and warmly, content for the first time in a long while. Perhaps for the first time ever. 

_And Lex came tumbling after._


End file.
